The Master of Turkeys
by wrestlefan4
Summary: BHBK fluffy oneshot. Inspired by Nef and our muses, the kitchen, and a pic from DK where Bret was in oven mitts holding a turkey. Twas cute.


"I think I set the timer on the oven wrong." Bret shimmied his hand into an oven mitt and opened the oven door. A plume of smoke puffed out, sending both he and the man next to him into a coughing fit. Bret waved at the smoke, and behind them a shrill alarm began to sound.

"What ever would have given you _that _idea?" Shawn laugh-coughed, as he headed for the crying smoke alarm, and popped the batteries out of it. He could help but grin at Bret, watching as he bent to remove the charred remains from the oven.

"Shawn!" Bret called. "Stop staring at my ass." He sat the pan onto the top of the stove. His mitted hands went to his hips and he glared down at the failed culinary endeavor. Shawn strolled back over, a smirk curling his lips.

"I wasn't staring at your ass Bret, I was just undressing you with my eyes." He joked, snapping his gum.

"It's…it's so bad." Bret mourned, picking up a fork and poking at the sizzling meat. "Maybe you should open up a window, it smells pretty bad."

Shawn reached for the window above the sink, and pushed it up, letting in a soft breeze of fresh air.

"I told you, Bret. This is why I always cook the bird for Thanksgiving." Shawn took the fork from Bret and giggling, poking at the blackened thing.

"Hey! I should get a do-over. It wasn't my fault this damn appliance—how was I supposed to know?" He jabbed at the buttons and Shawn laughed harder.

"Okay well, maybe it's not so bad if I scrape away some of the…incinerated…well maybe not."

Shawn scraped at the burnt parts—which was every part—and only found more burned underneath. It was practically nothing more than a cinder with plastic insides.

"Go ahead Shawn, you'll be left with nothin' but a skeleton. It's probably burned too." Bret huffed, kicking the oven door with his toe.

"It looks like a giant turd with wings." Shawn grabbed the poor toasted wings of the turkey and wiggled them a little.

"You two must be related then, because you look like a giant turd with a lazy eye."

Shawn pouted.

"Aw, Bret, don't pick on my eye. You're just upset because _I_ was right. There are some things I do better than you, cooking being one of them. Come on, admit it Bret. Say it: Shawn, you're better than me."

Bret quirked an eyebrow.

"Right Shawn, I'm not gonna say that. There's still two weeks 'til Thanksgiving and by the time it gets here, I'm gonna be The Master of Turkeys."

"Oh, in my eyes you already are, Bret." Shawn grinned, watching Bret as he took the pan to the trash and dumped the cremated bird into the bin. After studying the damage burned onto the pan, Bret shrugged and dumped that in too. Bret ignored the comment and came back to the stove.

"Don't you have an instruction booklet or somethin' for this?"

"A what?" Shawn looked at Bret blankly.

Bret rubbed at his forehead with his still mitted hand, smearing it with streaks of black.

"You know, it tells you how to…Shawn…ugh."

"Ooh I never read those things." Shawn waved his hand. "I probably threw it away. I like to find out by just goin' for it."

"No Shawn, you have to know what you're doing. It's like wrestling, you can't just go into the ring and 'go for it' you have to train your ass off until everythings perfect and _then_ you cook the turkey for Thanksgiving."

"I didn't know you learned about that in the dungeon. I wasn't really thinking like wrestling though, I was thinkin'…like sex. You know, no instructions, ya just…do it."

Bret looked at the oven, to Shawn, and then back to the appliance.

"My way makes more sense."

"My way is more fun."

"My way makes me the Excellence of Execution, your way makes you dance around in the ring like a stripper."

"Hey, Hart! I had fun dancin' around in the ring like a stripper, and I know you were back stage watchin' me the whole time." Shawn grinned at Bret, snapped his gum, and executed a crotch chop. Bret grumbled. "And you shouldn't grumble, Hitman, ya sound like a car without a muffler."

"What would you know about cars?"

"I know—well I…WELL I know how to drive one, so there!" Shawn poked Bret's chest. Bret smirked, looking amused, his dark curls falling over his forehead.

"Barely."

"It still counts!" Shawn grabbed the fork off the counter, pointing to the tines that still had burned flakes clinging to them. "And besides, we're not talkin' about me, or cars, or sex, or executing excellently. We're talkin' about Bret Hart orchestrating monstrosities on poor, defenseless, winged creatures that say gobble."

Bret rolled his eyes.

"Wow, look at you Shawn, using big words."

"Yeah well, the biggest word between the two of us is your ego!"

"That doesn't even make sense." Bret took the fork, and dropped it into the sink with a clatter.

"Yes it does!"

"No it doesn't."

"You're not always right, give it up!"

Shawn was getting riled, and Bret was trying not to smile about it. Shawn was amusing when he was jumping around throwing a tantrum, well, most of the time.

"I've already given it up to you." Bret laughed, wrapping his hands around Shawn's hips and giving a little squeeze. "So shut the hell up."

Shawn snapped his mouth closed, and went back to his pouting. Bret was looking smug, and Shawn didn't like it. After chewing at the insides of his cheeks, he spoke up again.

"Come on Bret, say it." He whined, playing with the soft cottony material of Bret's t-shirt.

Bret sighed.

"Fine. If it'll make you happy, then I'll say it. Is that what you want Shawn?"

Shawn nodded.

Bret grinned.

"It."

"You JERK!" Shawn pinched Bret's chest through his shirt.

"Oow! Shawn!"

"Say it!"

"Ow-ow…okay okay…Shawn the Almighty Michaels is _sometimes_ better than me!"

Shawn let go, satisfied.

"That's good enough."

"You're a bigger jerk than I am."

"Not a chance." Shawn scoffed.

"Maybe I'm not so good at cooking…but I do know _something_ I'm better at than you, and I'm not talking about wrestling. Although, that too."

"Ego!"

"Yeah I know you have one, Shawn."

"Oh god."

"Ooh, you don't have to call me god Shawn. Your Royal Highness would do."

"How 'bout Your Royal Ass."

"How about yours?" Bret grabbed Shawn, and tossed him over his shoulder, carrying him out of the kitchen.

"HEY! Hart! What are you doing with me!" Shawn wiggled as Bret carried him towards the bedroom. Bret dumped Shawn onto the bed.

"Showing you that I'm better at this than you are."

"You've lost your mind. You do know who I am, don't you?"

"My Showstopper." Bret crawled up onto the bed, pushing Shawn back onto the pillows. He pressed their lips together, taking them for a headspinning kiss that left them both dizzy and lips tingling. Shawn licked at his lips, purring.

"Mmmhm that was pretty amazing." His molten blue eyes captured Bret's dark brown ones, the long lashes fluttering over them. But then, Shawn was distracted. "Bret…wait…I can't have sex with you while you have that burned crap smeared all over your forehead." Shawn licked his fingers, and rubbed at the smudges.

"Eew Shawn!" Bret jerked away, pulling his shirt up over his face to rub at his forehead, before dropping it down again, the collar now stretched out.

"What? You're such a baby, Bret."

"That's disgusting."

"What are you talking about? You have my lips, tongue, and spit all over you all the time and you _love _it."

"That's different. Mom's do spit-baths and you're _not_ my Mother." Bret's disgusted face could only make Shawn laugh.

"Yeah well, believe me Bretty, if I was your Mother, I would have dropped you on your head. Deflated that ego a little."

"If I was your kid, I would have dropped _you_ on your head."

"Oh Bret, just shut up. Come here." Shawn grabbed Bret, pulling him forward, their noses nearly touching. "Now, let me show you why _I'm_ better at this. You're a stubborn man, you just need me to repeat my lessons for you to get them through that thick head."

"But I thought I was showing you-"

"Stop thinking."

Shawn sealed their lips together, delving his tongue into Bret's hot mouth. The kiss was intense, both mouths pushing hard at the other for submission, until one finally gave in. The moan filled both of their mouths and the shiver coursing through one body traveled to the other. Bret was willingly moved beneath Shawn, who seated himself on Bret's waist, grinding his jean clad ass against the hard bump beneath it. Bret's eyes closed, body writhing as Shawn moved against him. Shawn's lips tore away from his and went to work on his throat and neck. There were no more challenging words between them, but if there was a smoke alarm in the bedroom, it would have been screaming.


End file.
